


Idiosyncratic

by gemjam



Category: British Comedian RPF
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-12
Updated: 2011-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-20 08:38:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David really likes Charlie's trainers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idiosyncratic

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my kink_bingo square _foot/shoe fetish._

He first noticed it when they were filming the initial promo for 10 o’clock Live. Not that it was the first time he’d noticed that Charlie wore trainers. He was always aware of that fact, and also vaguely aware that they suited him. But when they filmed that promo it was the first time that David noticed that he really sort of, well, liked them.

He was milling around the set and he’d caught sight of Charlie on a monitor, feet up on the desk next to an iconic red telephone. It was like he was literally shoving his trainers in David’s face. Without thinking, David moved closer, looking at the real thing. Charlie was adlibbing ridiculously, but David couldn’t hear a word. There was something so defiant and cocky about him, sitting there with his trainers up on the fucking desk. Something so...

David took a breath. It was nothing. He turned around and went to prepare for his own turn in front of the camera.

David didn’t know at the time why it riled him so much. The mental image stayed with him though and he found himself pondering about it in bed that night, staring up at his murky ceiling. They were childish, those trainers, David decided. A man his age shouldn’t be wearing trainers. He should be wearing sensible shoes like David. Well, maybe not like David, Charlie wouldn’t look right in David’s shoes, but something a little more grown-up at least. He looked like he’d stolen them from some hipster teen.

He didn’t really though. He looked like he’d walked into a shop and bought them because they belonged on his feet. How did that work? The man was nearly forty. Alright he was immature, puerile even, in a very talented way that David actually admired, but he was still middle-aged. He shouldn’t be able to get away with it.

David sighed in the darkness. His mental image of Charlie made him feel sort of... peculiar. He couldn’t really explain it any better than that. It was that defiance that David kept coming back to. The defiance to act his age, the defiance to do what was expected of him. It was a bit like rebellion, David supposed. Teenage rebellion. Peter Pan syndrome. Not growing up.

It was really rather attractive.

The thought had been at the back of David’s head since he’d seen Charlie sat there, feet propped smugly up next to his pop culture prop, but he’d pushed it away. Of course he had. In the safety of his bed, hidden under his duvet with the lights out, he began to explore the thought though. Not like _that_. He was a long way from thinking about Charlie like _that_ , but here in the dark he was able to cautiously admit to himself that those trainers did look pretty fucking sexy on Charlie Brooker’s feet.

After that, he couldn’t stop noticing them. His eyes were drawn whenever Charlie tapped his feet restlessly or propped them up on the small coffee table in the green room. After a while, all Charlie had to do was walk down the corridor and David would be staring at his feet and chewing on his lip. It was a bit ridiculous really, but it was all harmless... fun? It was harmless. He just happened to admire the way that Charlie looked in his childish footwear, that’s all.

On Charlie’s birthday, David stared down at those trainers and he tried to make a snide joke at the expensive of a forty-year-old man wearing kid’s shoes, but the words sort of died in his mouth. It wasn’t funny. David had become too attached to the trainers by then. The way that Charlie never noticed when the laces came undone, the way his toes pointed inwards whenever he was nervous, the way he’d prop one trainer-clad foot up on his knee and jiggle it around, mesmerising David. Thoughts of _attractive_ and _sexy_ had long since left the comfort of his duvet he realised, and somewhere along the way _want_ had joined them too.

But that was fine. David kept it under control. Charlie might joke around with him, flirt with him almost when he thought it would get a laugh, but anything else was completely out of the question, and rightly so. David got crushes all the time. They passed. He had to admit that they weren’t usually so focused on people’s footwear choices though.

Then, just when he’d nearly convinced himself that he wasn’t looking at Charlie’s shoes nearly so much anymore, they did _that_ intro. Charlie was perched on the edge of the desk, feet dangling enticingly, and as he said his name he swung his legs like a little kid, trainers dancing back and forth in David’s peripheral vision. He could barely remember what he was supposed to say.

When he got home that night, he got on 4oD and watched it back like some kind of crazy, shoe-obsessed stalker. His lips parted as he gazed at the way Charlie’s feet moved, apart, then together, the instep of his trainers meeting at an angle that seemed to show all of Charlie insecurities and mischievousness in one go. And then he looked at David. He fucking looked at David, cocking his head, his face... sort of playful. Almost. Or seeking. Looking for... something.

David turned the website off. Then he went back on it again. This was turning into a horrible mess. He was interpreting Charlie’s look as being in some way connected to those swinging legs, which obviously it wasn’t. This was not an invitation for David to have a wank. It wasn’t. Except that now all David could think about was those dangling legs, wrapped around his back, trainers pressing into his spine, and his face was getting very hot. He turned the computer off and headed up to his safe duvet before he got any more ideas.

David was distantly aware that he’d passed the point of no return, but it wasn’t a thought he felt like clarifying. He had an unhealthy obsession with Charlie’s shoes, with how he looked in them. He had an unhealthy obsession with Charlie. Still, he managed to get through the rest of the series without blurting out his undying love for his footwear of choice so he decided to count it as a win.

When the series run ended, he spent a lot less time with Charlie. Not seeing him every week with his clumsy feet in his immature trainers, David really started to miss them. This fixation was supposed to fade once he wasn’t faced with the stupid things constantly. Out of sight, out of mind didn’t seem to fucking work with him. They met up a few times, Charlie moaning about this and that while David stared at his shoes and held up his side of the conversation admirably well. It was nice. He enjoyed it. He imagined Charlie’s toes curling up in his shoes when he came.

The next time they met at a formal, work-based gathering, is when 10 O’clock Live was nominated for an award. David pulled his tux from his wardrobe, knowing he looked just exactly the right amount of presentable in it. Thank God for man uniforms. Charlie, of course, didn’t wear a tux. He had a suit though, a nice one, maybe even expensive, and a plain black tie that made him fit in nicely enough without completely conforming or anything. Without giving up that tiny glimmer of rebellion he seemed to hold close. Or maybe David was projecting.

He smiled at Charlie in greeting, his eyes scanning down his body. When they got to his feet, he could literally feel his face fall, his heart sink. He wasn’t wearing his trainers. He had on proper, grown-up dress shoes. They didn’t suit him. He looked stupid. David thought he might actually be pouting.

They sat next to each other all night and, even though David couldn’t see Charlie’s feet under the table, it bothered him. He felt like Charlie had caved, conformed, given up that childish spirit. Alright, so it wasn’t a tux, but he still looked smart. His top button might have been undone under his tie, but he was still _wearing_ a tie. He’d gone fucking mainstream. Sell out.

The vitriol of David’s own thoughts surprised him. It was just a pair of fucking shoes. Why did it matter to him so much? Charlie hadn’t had a personality transplant or anything. In fact, when David forced himself to relax, with the help of rather copious amounts of free champagne, he laughed just as much as usual at Charlie’s jokes, enjoyed his company just as much as he always did, which was a lot. A very fucking awful lot. He _liked_ Charlie. But he liked Charlie’s shoes in some special kind of perverted way too.

They didn’t win the award. It didn’t really spoil any of their nights though. Charlie stole them an extra bottle of champagne ‘to drown their sorrows’, even though neither of them seemed to be able to stop giggling, and they ended up alone in an apparently forgotten corner of the room. They drank straight from the bottle, their glasses abandoned somewhere else in the venue, and David felt giddy and fizzy and warm. Charlie began to become kind of hazy, just a little off focus, and David couldn’t stop smiling at him.

He passed the bottle back, swaying slightly, and it was easier to go with it than right himself. It wasn’t quite a lunge, but maybe it was. That’s what David did, after all. It was his signature move, if you could call it that, and he was just drunk and enamoured enough to do it. So he used his unsteadiness to propel himself forward and his lips landed against Charlie’s. There was a moment where neither of them did much, where it wasn’t good or bad, they weren’t kissing, but they weren’t _not_ kissing. And then, then they were, lips moving against one another, mumbled noises of apology and acceptance exchanged before mouths opened and tongues licked and Charlie dropped the bottle of champagne on the floor in favour of grabbing hold of David’s tux jacket and not letting go for a really long time.

They somehow ended up in Charlie’s flat in a whirl of teeth and tongues and hands and need. David quickly found himself pushed up against the wall, which was absolutely fine by him, Charlie pressing into him, kissing him like he was trying to kill him, and then he shifted on his feet, his shoes scuffing against David’s, and David was taken out of the moment with an inexcusable murmur of disappointment.

Luckily, Charlie didn’t seem to notice, deciding to mouth ineffectually over David’s jaw before sucking on his neck. David closed his eyes, concentrating on how absolutely brilliant that felt. It was drunken, hazy, unfocused lust, but it felt good. He was drunken, hazy and unfocused too. And lustful. Very lustful. He was greedy though. He wanted the cherry on top of the cake.

“Do you, uh,” he attempted, realising that he might be drunk, but possibly not drunk enough for that. “Could you... oh, fuck.”

Charlie pulled back, looking at him with liquid eyes. “What?”

“Oh, I was just, uh, just wondering, wondering if perhaps, well, maybe, if you didn’t mind,” he stammered.

“Spit it out, Mitchell,” Charlie told him. Then he smiled, a slow grin transforming his face. “Is it kinky?”

“No,” David said indignantly. “No, it’s not...” He sighed. “Look, I was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind... putting on your trainers.”

“Putting on my trainers?” Charlie repeated, looking somewhat lost. “Why, do you want to go for a fucking run or something?”

“No,” David stated. “No, I don’t. I just... want you to put them on.”

Charlie frowned for a second and David could see the cogs turning. He also saw the exact moment when Charlie got it. Another smile spread over his face, this one undeniably dirty.

“Do you have a thing for my trainers?” he asked.

“A thing?” David scoffed, but he was blushing, couldn’t meet Charlie’s eyes.

Charlie gave a low laugh, not at David’s expense, just at the situation. He could barely contain himself. “Hold that thought,” he said, pressing his lips to David’s before jogging off up the stairs.

David leaned against the wall, panting and slightly dizzy, a mixture of alcohol and anticipation. This was actually happening. He swallowed, trying to steady himself as he listened to the sound of Charlie moving around above him. He heard feet on the stairs and he held his breath, biting down on his lip.

Charlie paused a couple of steps from the bottom, holding onto the banister with one hand as he lifted a leg up showgirl style, pointing his foot and making a show of the trainer that was now residing there. David stared, transfixed, his dick going absolutely fucking rigid. He decided not to wonder on that reaction too long.

Charlie smiled at him, hopping down off the steps and walking towards him. “That better?” he asked, hands reaching up and pawing at David’s lapels.

David didn’t think that he could form words if his life depended on it. He’d just have to show his gratitude in a different way. He pulled Charlie to him, spinning the two of them around so that Charlie was the one pressed up against the wall. Charlie raised his eyebrows at him, definitely game, and David dropped down to his knees, a trainer-clad foot at either side of him.

He reached up, working the fastening on Charlie’s trousers, pulling down the zip. He pulled trousers down, pushed shirt up, until he had Charlie’s cock in his hand, stroking it firmly, hungrily, revelling in the noises that escaped from Charlie’s mouth. As David licked his lips, parted them, wrapped them around the head of Charlie’s dick, Charlie groaned, body straining to push forward, and David imagined curled toes inside trainers and gave his own groan in response.

He set up a rhythm, sucking, licking, losing himself and taking Charlie very clearly with him. One hand was wrapped around the base of Charlie’s dick, holding, stimulating, but the other dropped down, stroked over a trainer, feeling the worn fabric, scuffed and pliable. He wound his fingers around the laces, gripped them tight for inspiration, and felt like the luckiest weirdo in the world.


End file.
